Carl pushed his shovel into the dirt with significantly more force than was necessary. He continued to dig in this manner, paying little attention to where he was digging and where the loose dirt was going.

Rick paused and watched his son for a few minutes.

They were in the process of clearing a new section to expand the garden. Rick had an orderly plan for the rows but Carl was making a mess of things.

"Carl," Rick said, but the boy didn't answer.

"Carl," Rick repeated more loudly, asking, "What's wrong?"

Carl finally stopped what he was doing and glared at his father, clearly irritated at being interrupted by a question that Rick surely knew the answer to.

Rick refused to be baited into an argument. He waited for Carl to answer.

"They're still not back yet," Carl finally said.

"I know," Rick said, squinting against the sun to look towards the prison gate.

Daryl had finally fixed the truck and he and Michonne left to check out some warehouses they'd heard about, promising that they'd be back in a day or two, three max. That had been four days ago.

It was too soon to worry, Rick told himself. These things take longer than expected more often than not.

"You're worried about them," Rick said, less a question than a statement.

Carl shrugged. He knew as well as anyone what could happen out in the world. He was torn between cold acceptance of how things were and simmering anger.

What if Michonne and Daryl were in trouble, and he or his dad could have helped them, but instead they were stuck here, farming?

"We're talking about Michonne, remember? She always comes back," Rick said with as much confidence as he could summon.

"Daryl too. They always come back."

Carl only nodded, hoping that his father was right. He went back to digging.

..............................

"Go!" Daryl's gruff voice cut through the growls and snarls of the walkers piled against the door.

Daryl leaned against the door with all his weight. Grey fingers pushed through the cracks like the probing tentacles of a grotesque sea monster. The rusted door was seconds away from buckling.

They were backed into a room with no other exit aside from one window on the far wall, high and narrow. It was only large enough for one person at a time.

"GO!" Daryl yelled again, his feet slipping on the cement floor.

Michonne frowned.

Go and do what? Leave him there to die while she escaped? To walk back to the prison alone, to see Rick's face when he realizes that she's alone. To see his heart break when he realizes that his brother is dead?

"No."

Daryl looked at her uncertainly.

Michonne took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. She rolled her neck and loosened up her muscles, preparing for action. In one smooth motion she pulled her katana from its sheath and held it in front of her body.

"Open the door," she said calmly.

If Daryl was prepared to lay down his life for his friend, he was also prepared to fight to the death. He recognized the fire in Michonne's eyes and accepted the change of plan with a renewed determination.

If this was their end, so be it. They would take as many walkers out with them as they could.

This was as good a day as any to die.

.......................................

Despite what he'd told Carl, Rick was worried.

He lowered the binoculars and rubbed his tired eyes. It was too dark to see anything out there but that hadn't stopped him from looking.

Knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, Rick had volunteered to take the first shift on watch. The hours crept by, each one failing to reveal a pair of headlights approaching from the distance, or the flash of steel in the moonlight, or a faint whistle.

Finally, Rick decided to give up the watch.

If Daryl and Michonne were still out there, they knew better than to travel at night.

Rick shook his head, trying to banish his doubts.

In the past two years he has seen his fair share of disasters and tragedies.

He has also seen what Hershel would probably call miracles; finding Lori and Carl outside of Atlanta, finding Hershel after Carl was shot, Michonne walking towards the prison fence after being kidnapped by Merle.

However, standing in the midnight gloom of a bombed out watch tower with the sounds of the dead rising above the crickets, it was easier to remember the tragedies than the miracles.

Daryl and Michonne were days overdue and something had definitely gone wrong.

In the morning, he would go after them. He'd take Glenn, maybe Tyreese. He had to. He owed both Daryl and Michonne his life, each many times over.

But that would mean leaving Carl and Judith behind. There were so few of their group left now, so few to keep the prison standing. Could he justify it? Leaving his children alone to search for two people who could be anywhere?

In the end Rick decided that was a question to ask in the daylight. He wouldn't do anyone any good unless he got some rest.

Taking one last look towards the forest, Rick reluctantly set the binoculars aside and climbed down from the tower.

.................................

With a wet sounding crunch, another walker fell to the ground, a generous portion of its skull landing several feet from the rest of the body.

Michonne gasped for breath, trying to calm her racing heart. With each swing of her sword the blade felt heavier, her arms weaker, her legs slower.

"C'mon," Daryl grunted, as much to himself as to Michonne.

It was dark now. Only a hint of moonlight shone through the gloomy forest.

They had escaped the warehouse after a running battle, alternatively fighting and hiding, but mostly fighting. There were a few brief respites, holed up in an office or behind some tipped over shelving, never long enough.

Michonne followed Daryl through the trees, propelled by sheer force of will.

Hours of fighting and running, with no food or water, had taken a toll. For the first time in a long time, Michonne felt so tired that, if she closed her eyes for a second too long, she would fall asleep right there.

It was quieter now but Michonne wasn't fooled. More walkers were only minutes away, probably less.

For every corpse she struck down, a hundred stumbled through the world ready to take its place. They would never stop.

Wasn't this enough? Step after step, day after day, stretching into weeks and months and years. She'd faced it all, every endless terror and she hadn't flinched. She'd come so much further than she'd ever thought she would.

Maybe this was enough. Maybe this was the end. Maybe she could see Andre again. They could be together again, somewhere safe and warm and happy.

Her pace slowed and the distance between herself and Daryl grew.

She could hold her son in her arms again, sing him to sleep at night, cover the fridge with his crayon scribbles, tease him until his laughter filled the house...

Up ahead, Daryl fell to the ground with a startled yelp. He let out a few choice expletives, pain clear in his voice.

Stop thinking about yourself! Help him! Michonne chastised herself sternly, focusing again on her surroundings.

She ran towards her friend as quickly as she could.

"No! Stay –aghh, Stay back!" Daryl ordered gruffly when she was only a few feet away.

"Daryl!" Michonne stopped short.

"Barbed wire," Daryl explained, his breath ragged.

Sure enough, his legs were caught up in a tangle of rusted barbed wire. In the dark and with heavy clumps of leaves covering it, the sharp wire was nearly impossible to see unless you knew where to look.

Michonne saw that the wire stretched around a small clearing with what had to be a collapsed tent in the middle. It was an abandoned campsite.

A raspy growl, alerted by the commotion, sounded from nearby. There was a walker caught in the barbed wire about ten feet away. From the growing noise, there were probably more, just out of sight.

There was no way to know if they were walkers who had blindly stumbled into the sharp coils of wire and been unable to get free or if they had been people who got caught by the wire and then caught by walkers. In the end, it didn't matter.

"Can you get free?" she asked Daryl desperately.

They didn't have much time.

He tried to twist around into a sitting position but the more he moved, the deeper the wire cut into his legs. Daryl clamped his teeth shut to keep from yelling in pain.

"Hold still," Michonne ordered.

She glanced around and, seeing that the area was clear, sheathed her sword. As carefully as she could, Michonne pulled the stubborn strands of wire apart enough for Daryl to free one leg and then the other.

Her leather gloves protected her palms but she could feel where the sharp metal cut her fingers. Grimacing, Michonne wiped her hands on her pants and reached out to help Daryl stand.

Dizzy with pain, Daryl got back on his feet.

If Merle were here, I know just what he would do, Daryl thought bitterly. His older brother would laugh out loud, shaking his head in dismay, and call Daryl an idiot.

'Dumbass. Tripping over your own feet!' Merle's voice taunted him.

"Shut up," Daryl groaned, barely audible.

Michonne frowned, uncertain if he was talking to her. She draped one of Daryl's arms around her shoulders and wrapped her own arm around him for support.

'Might as well sit down and wait for the biters to gut you, Baby Brother, the way you're going at it. You ain't no good without me. You never were,' Merle never did know when to let up.

"Shut up!" Daryl hissed, his voice stronger, "You don't know nothing!"

"Come on," Michonne said softly, "Let's go."

Daryl leaned heavily against Michonne. She gripped her sword in her free hand, the hilt slick with her own blood.

If they found the road again, they might be able to make it back to the prison before dawn.

They set off again, moving at an agonizingly slow pace. Monsters and ghosts dogged their every step.